


Firsts

by vespertineflora



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baking, Cookies, Gen, M/M, Music, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recovered Memories, Recovery, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:54:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vespertineflora/pseuds/vespertineflora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's back and he's recovering, little by little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Smile

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a tumblr text post: http://sgtjimbarnes.tumblr.com/post/102293200856/as-much-as-i-love-fics-about-first-kisses-what-i

Two weeks. Bucky had been back for two weeks... and it had been an unusual two weeks to say the least. Since getting Bucky’s arm patched up at Tony’s, Steve had been keeping Bucky at his apartment and Bucky... well, he was adjusting. And so was Steve.

Steve hadn’t had unrealistic expectations, of course. He knew he was only aware of the surface of the trauma Bucky had experienced at the hands of Hydra, and even after the year Bucky had spent on his own, there was a lot of progress to be made. Steve got that. It... just hurt to watch Bucky floating around the apartment aimlessly, not so different from the ghost moniker his time in captivity had earned him. It hurt to see the melancholy on Bucky’s face, the stern, almost-flat expression he always wore.

He hadn’t smiled yet. His face had softened, and Steve felt like his greatest accomplishment so far was the look of peace that settled over Bucky’s face when he’d fall asleep next to him on the couch (which happened quite often), but his lips hadn’t twitched in any direction that Steve would call a smile.

And it worried Steve. He remembered so vividly how handsome and carefree Bucky looked when he smiled. He knew, from a past life, how natural the expression had looked on his face. Knowing Bucky had now gone weeks (at least, but it was more likely years, decades) without smiling properly made Steve’s heart ache.

Steve wasn’t trying to force it though. He didn’t want to force Bucky into anything, because then Steve would feel no better than Hydra. Bucky needed time to adjust, and Steve would make sure he had it.

Steve was sitting on the floor in the living room folding laundry--he had twice the amount to do now--humming softly to himself. He hadn’t seen Bucky yet that morning, but Steve doubted he was asleep. Bucky looked too tired when he emerged from his room to have slept properly; Steve was starting to suspect that Bucky really only slept when he curled up on the couch near Steve, when Steve was combing his fingers through Bucky’s hair because it seemed to soothe him more than really anything else they’d discovered up to this point.

Judging by the number of books Bucky had already gone through, Steve guessed that Bucky had taken to reading at night.

Just then, Bucky wandered in from the hallway, the dark circles under his eyes far too noticeable. Steve gave Bucky a little smile and greeted, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Bucky muttered.

“If you’re hungry, I bought bagels and cream cheese this morning,” Steve said. He wouldn’t mention it, but they were onion bagels, which had been Bucky’s absolute favorite. He’d been introducing Bucky to a few of his once-favorite things to see if he’d remember any of them. If he had, he hadn’t said anything yet.

“Mmm,” Bucky replied, his response drowsy, and instead of head into the kitchen, he crawled onto the couch and plopped down, curling up on his side and closing his eyes. 

Steve’s smile softened, and he watched Bucky for a moment, watched his chest rising and falling slowly, before turning back to the task at hand and getting his socks properly folded together. After a moment, he started humming again, the song he’d heard that morning in a coffee shop stuck in his head.

Suddenly, Bucky’s eyes opened and his head popped up, looking at Steve. “That song,” he said, his brow furrowing, “I know that song.”

Steve smiled a little, glad to hear it. “Yeah, you do,” he confirmed, “It Had To Be You.”

Bucky looked thoughtful for a bit, and if it was anyone other than Bucky, Steve would have let it drop at that. He wasn’t much of a singer, at least not in public, but he wanted more than anything to help Bucky latch onto the memory.

“It had to be you,” he sang, dropping his gaze from Bucky and continuing the laundry, “it had to be you. I’ve wandered around, and finally found, somebody who, could make me be true, could make me be blue, and even be glad just to be sad, thinkin’ of you.”

Steve happened a glance at Bucky, who still looked like there was something on the tip of his tongue, so Steve kept going.

“Some others I’ve seen, might never be mean, might never be cross, or try to be boss, but they wouldn’t do...”

He took a breath, and was about to continue when suddenly Bucky cut in, “For nobody else gave me a thrill, with all your faults, I love you still... It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you.”

Steve felt his heart swelling in his chest, smiling brightly at the memories he could practically see flashing across Bucky’s eyes. Their gazes met, and they finished together, “‘Cause nobody else gave me a thrill, with all your faults, I love you still... and it had to be you, it just had to be you... It had to be you.”

And as the last note left their lips... the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly, and the warmth of the gesture spread to his eyes, softening his whole face sweetly.

Steve was pretty damn sure he was going to melt at the sight of it. The smile lingered on Bucky’s face as his head laid back down and Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t focus on anything but the sweet expression that had finally returned to his best friend’s face.

“How do I know it?” Bucky asked aloud, though it certainly sounded like a question he was asking himself.

But when he didn’t supply himself with an answer, Steve volunteered, “It was a really popular song back in the day. I think both our moms had a record of it.”

Bucky shook his head a little, “It’s not just that,” he said (and Steve was practically holding his breath to see if Bucky would remember on his own), and he paused a moment, the same thoughtful smile on his face, “We... did we dance to it?”

Steve smiled wider, his heart throbbing a bit. The memory of Bucky slipping the record on in his mom’s living room, of Bucky taking his hand while the other settled on his waist, flooded his senses, and if he thought about it, he could practically see it playing out in front of him; his hands nervously touching Bucky, Marrion Harris’s sweet voice filling the room as Bucky encouraged him to move his feet. Steve felt the same blush returning to his cheeks that he’d worn that afternoon (because some things never changed). He replied fondly, “We certainly tried.”

“We did,” Bucky agreed as the memory came into focus for him as well. “I was... trying to teach you to dance.”

“Unsuccessfully,” Steve replied with a teasing little smile, “I wasn’t any good at it. But yeah, you were trying.”

The smile curled up a bit higher on Bucky’s lips. “I don’t think you gave it much of a shot. We danced to this song and when it ended, you quit.”

Steve remembered that too. He remembered exactly why he’d quit, but Bucky had never known the truth of it, and he wasn’t ready to tell him now that the reason he hadn’t wanted to practice dancing any more was because Bucky had been the only one he was interested in dancing with. Steve quirked an eyebrow at him, “I stepped on your foot. I thought it was enough for one go.”

Bucky shook his head a little. “You were small back then. I doubt I even felt it.”

And Steve picked up just enough of the teasing tone in Bucky’s voice to laugh. This was the most... engaging conversation he’d had with Bucky since the day he’d found him, and this was exactly what Steve had been hoping for, aching for.

“Did you ever learn to dance?” Bucky asked after Steve went quiet.

The question almost bordered on a sad answer, considering the last conversation he’d had before crashing into the icy waters, but he managed to keep up the smile and he shook his head. “No, never did.”

Bucky nodded softly, then offered, miraculously still smiling, “Maybe I should teach you, for real this time. If you’ll let me.”

Steve didn’t know if he could say yes. He knew now, more than ever, that he was head over heels in love with his best friend, and letting Bucky offer that closeness without full disclosure felt cheap--and Steve couldn’t help but be especially aware of anything that might be considered taking advantage. But with the look on Bucky’s face, there was certainly no way he could say no. So he just agreed, “Maybe.”

For days afterwards, Steve would catch Bucky smiling as he hummed softly to himself.


	2. First Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries his hand at baking.

Bucky sat down at the counter, elbows on the surface as he leaned against his hands, and he watched Steve quietly as the man rummaged around the kitchen, pulling out bowls and utensils and a baking sheet. There was a printed out paper sitting on the counter across the room, but Bucky wasn’t at the right angle to see what it said.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked.

“Baking cookies,” Steve replied from behind a cabinet door.

Bucky felt a tiny smile on his lips--the action was slowly growing familiar again, but it was taking a while. He hadn’t had very much to smile about for a very long time, and the atrophy was wearing away from the muscles in his face. “Yeah?” he said, interested, “What kind?”

Steve grabbed the mixer from the cabinet, and closed the door, turned to grin at him. “Snickerdoodles.”

Bucky thought for a second. “Those are the ones with the cinnamon sugar, right?”

“Yup,” Steve said, putting the needed ingredients in close range on the counter.

“The ones your mom used to make?” Bucky asked, getting mental flashes of him and Steve as boys, in Sarah Roger’s kitchen, eating cookies that were so fresh from the oven that the hot sugar almost burned their little fingertips, so eager for cookies that neither of them cared. Bucky remembered the sweet smell of them, and more importantly the taste, they way they practically melted in their mouths.

“Yeah,” Said said with an even brighter grin. “I found a recipe online and I realized how long it’d been since I’d had homemade cookies.”

Bucky wasn’t opposed to the idea at all. He wouldn’t go around admitting it, but he had a bit of a sweet tooth, and he wasn’t going to turn down any sort of free sweets--when Steve had brought home a box of chocolate chip cookies a week or so ago, Bucky had been the one to pretty much devour them allover the course of two days.

He relaxed watching Steve gather ingredients, checking the recipe to make sure he had everything before he started measuring.

“I didn’t know you baked,” Bucky commented. He’d certainly never seen Steve bake, couldn’t remember a time when he had (though to be fair, chunks of Bucky’s memories were still missing). From what he could remember, Bucky had cooked for the two of them more often than Steve ever had--and in the past few weeks, Steve certainly hadn’t done too much cooking beyond his expert mastery of the microwave and calling take out places.

“Well, I... don’t. Or at least I haven’t really tried,” Steve admitted. “But it can’t be that hard, right? Just follow the recipe.”

Bucky had a feeling, just an inkling of a thing, that this was going to be good. He had been planning on reading some more this afternoon--he was halfway through Good Omens and Bruce said he was eager to get his thoughts--but this was bound to be far more entertaining (which was saying something, considering). He got comfortable and started to watch Steve work.

And well... it was a mess. For all of Steve’s utter precision in the field of hand-to-hand combat, it didn’t seem to... translate quite into cooking. Maybe it was just because he was unfamiliar with the physics of it all, but he ended up smashing one of the three eggs, half the crushed shell falling into his wet mix, and he underestimated just how quick the vanilla would pour out of the bottle, getting about half of that in the mix too. Ultimately, Steve started that one over.

Steve was a good sport about it though. Bucky was smiling softly watching him and apparently all Bucky had to do was smile to put Steve in a better mood.

With the wet ingredients together, Steve moved on to sifting together the dry stuff, flour and sugar and whatever else (Bucky wasn’t really trying to keep track), and of course the movement of the fine flour puffed up gently into the air, creating little dust clouds across the countertop. Bucky’s heart thumped a little faster at first, flashing memories of fine dry flour concentrated in the air basically being capable of high power explosions, but he quickly calmed down when Steve met his eyes and gave him one of his warmest smiles.

It was when Steve went to combine all the ingredients that disaster truly struck. Stirring with one hand, Steve lifted the bowl of dry ingredients to try to gently pour them into the wet mixture... but the dry ingredients seemed pretty content to stay where they were, and even a tiny shake wouldn’t make them shift. Bucky watched intently as Steve tipped the bowl a little more, shook the bowl and little more... a few little bits began to fall down, but before Steve could temper himself, suddenly half the flour mixture in the bowl dislodged, dumping into the wet ingredients but creating a huge PUFF of flour that absolutely coated the front of Steve’s shirt and pants and his arm and hand, sent enough dust into the air that Steve sneezed--resulting in more of the flour falling from the bowl in his surprise.

This all happened in one quick, unfortunate moment, and before Bucky was quite sure what he was doing, a sudden laugh bubbled out of him--the sound almost shocked him, but... it felt good. It felt -damn- good.

All the annoyance that had been about to rise up on Steve’s face at his error instantly melted away and he was suddenly glowing, his blue eyes nearly sparkling in awe at the sound.

Bucky grinned, the strong pull of his lips much more than he was growing used to as he teased, “You’re a mess.”

“Shut up,” Steve said with a laugh, which knocked another short laugh out of Bucky.

But it was when Steve reached up to wipe his forehead that Bucky actually lost it. As soon as Steve dragged his hand across the skin, it smeared the flour in a white streak across his forehead, even getting in his hair, and Bucky was suddenly overcome with a fit of giggles.

Just looking at Steve’s face, someone might have thought he’d just been told that they’d found a cure for all childhood cancers or that every puppy in every shelter across the nation had just been adopted, but no. His eyes were bright and glistening, his face glowing with joy, and because Bucky was laughing. For the first time in decades, Bucky was laughing, and Steve wasn’t even completely sure why he was laughing back, but he couldn’t help himself.

Steve ended up flicking a spoonful of flour at Bucky--which hit him squarely on the cheek, and Bucky would have retaliated, but the ingredients were out of his reach, all within Steve’s reach (a severe tactical advantage), and he decided to let it go, opting to just laugh more instead.

When the laughter finally died down, Steve did try to finish mixing the ingredients together and they did try baking them on the one small baking sheet they owned... but unsurprisingly, the cookies didn’t turn out the way they wanted. They were... strangely salty, and far too hard, and neither even bothered trying to pretend otherwise.

Steve found a bakery online that would fresh bake and actually deliver an entire dozen cookies to their door. They opted for that instead, and they were probably the best damn snickerdoodles either of them had ever had.


End file.
